


In the Cracks of Heaven

by emma_anna_elisabeth



Category: Back to the Future (Movies)
Genre: Added Seatbelts, Blood and Injury, Car Accidents, Car Crash AU, F/M, Guitar boy, Heavy Angst, Hospital, Major Character Death In Future Chapters, Major Character Injury, Marty's memories doesn't connect with the new timeline, Nightmare, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Poor Jennifer, Poor Marty, The Stranger by Albert Camus
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-19
Updated: 2021-03-23
Packaged: 2021-03-28 13:34:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,295
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30140322
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emma_anna_elisabeth/pseuds/emma_anna_elisabeth
Summary: The future isn’t written yet, he’d said.Make it a good one, he’d said.But, what Doc didn’t know was that some events are fixed in time; they’re bound to happen no matter what. Not even time travel can change the nature of time itself - time always catches up.The car crash was one of those events. It doesn’t matter that Marty doesn’t race Needles, fate still doesn't spare him. Fate still finds a way. And Marty will never be the same.
Relationships: Marty McFly/Jennifer Parker
Comments: 13
Kudos: 8





	1. Arctic Eyes

**Author's Note:**

> First of all - I'm terribly sorry, because this is heart wrenching and I can't believe I actually wrote it in the first place. It started out as a tiny what-if-scenario, but then I ended up writing way more than I intended, and a multi chapter story formed in my head.
> 
> I know the first chapter is pretty much purely heavy angst, and I can't really promise you that the angst will go away completely (I'm a sucker for that, it turns out), but there will be happier moments later on. A lot of feelings and thoughts about life.  
> But please let me know if you enjoy this and would like to read more! I was a little hesitant to publish this at first, but I figured when I'd written so much - why not?
> 
> And, of course (sadly) I don't any character's from BTTF. 
> 
> To you, Smile - I have not forgotten about writing a continuation to my story [Just One More Time](https://archiveofourown.org/works/28861242).  
> I'll start working on that as soon as I get the time!
> 
> If you read my other fic [Do You Believe In Love?](https://archiveofourown.org/works/29061930), you'll get my 'eye referneces' a little bit better, but this story can of course be read independently.
> 
> Title changed because there was another fic named almost like mine. This title is inspired by David Archuleta's song 'Cracks of Heaven'.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have never personally been in a car crash, so this is all made up fiction by me. It's pure exploring, but if you have been in an accident, this might be triggering. There's a lot of graphic descriptions.  
> 

“So, time travel, huh.” Marty can hear the smile on Jennifer’s lips. “Amazing, but crazy. Real crazy.” Bewildered, she turns in the passenger seat to look at him. Her eyes glitter with excitement when she talks. “The future.” 

She looks down, eyes concentrated, as if she had just learned the words; as if this was the first time she tasted them on her tongue.  
“ _Our_ future.” The sound of her voice, enclosing the words with such love and hope, makes his heart skip a beat. His lips curve into a big smile as he throws a gaze at her. Now, in this moment, nothing seems too big, too impossible or too crazy; they can do anything. The world lies beneath their feet, all possibilities lined up for them in a straight line. 

Marty can see it, their future. Jennifer’s soft hand in his, a ring on her finger. The soft curve of her belly that grows and grows; one day, it wouldn’t be just the two of them; one day, tiny fingers would grip tightly around his.  
He’d be happy, Jennifer would be happy. They’d get a happy ending, he was sure of it. The future would be what they made it. And they’d make it a good one. Marty was sure of it. 

He turns his head to catch a glimpse of her, knowing fully well not to take his eyes off the road for more than a moment. Expecting Jennifer’s happy face, he smiles in beforehand. But the smile drains quickly from his features. The sight that meets his eyes makes his blood freeze. Wide eyed, he meets Jennifer’s gaze. She looks at him in confusion - she doesn’t see what he sees. 

Everything happens incredibly fast. Marty hasn’t got a chance, there’s nothing he can do. Suddenly, there’s a truck coming out of nowhere, directly at them from the right. It doesn’t stop in the crossing like it should. No, it’s coming right at them. Like an enormous monster ready to swallow them whole. There’s no time to get away, the truck is coming too fast.  
_No…_

Marty tries to brace himself for the impact, but he can’t. Nothing can prepare him for what’s about to happen. “God”, he breathes right before the truck crashes into the side of the 4x4. It tosses the big car out of the way like it was nothing. 

Marty isn’t sure if he believes in God. But whether he does or doesn’t, he can’t stop the desperate prayer that rushes through his mind. In that precise millisecond, before the truck hits, his soul cries it out, with its every ounce. It’s faint. Like the cry of a drowning man; no one can hear him scream under water. But it is there. It’s still there. 

_Save us._

If there even is a God out there, will he bother to listen? Marty hopes for nothing else. 

The black car overturns and bounces off the road.  
Marty can’t describe what it feels like. It’s something between being ripped apart and smashed together. Which is worse, he can’t say. He can’t think, he can’t breathe. The world around him is distorted, upside dow- no, not it’s up-right. Wait- up side down again. Everything is spinning, everything is wrong, everything is moving too fast.  
Everything hurts. 

Until it doesn’t. Until everything is completely still. Until it’s over. 

There’s a ringing in his ears, it’s the only thing Marty can hear. His head feels like it’s about to explode, it’s throbbing with pain. At first, he doesn’t know where he is. It comes back to him slowly, as he opens his eyes. The first thing that meets his confused gaze is the broken windshield. It’s full of cracks, he can barely see through it. Marty looks at it in silence, mouth slightly open, laboured breaths passing his lips. Grass. Through the countless cracks, he can see grass. It’s grass, green grass. But… but why is it so close? It shouldn’t be this close. 

That’s when realisation dawns on him. They’re upside down. 

_Oh my God_ , he thinks. _This is heavy._ They were hit. The past 30 seconds flash through his mind. The truck. The hit. Jennif- _No,no,no…_ It feels like someone just stabbed him in the heart, sent lightning bolts of terror and pain through his body. He snaps his head to the side. _Please._

His blood runs cold. The blue seas that make his eyes freeze and ice spreads over them; tropic waters turn into the Arctic. 

“Jenn”, he croaks. She’s hanging upside down in her seat, just like he is. But her arms hang down, so loosely; they lie still against the ceiling. Her eyes are closed, and Marty swallows hard. “Jenn”, he whispers; a whisper is all he manages to utter. 

With trembling fingers, he reaches for the seatbelt to unbuckle it. A shuddering breath escapes him when he moves his head and he winces in pain. He never could’ve imagined unbuckling a seatbelt would be this hard; it doesn’t only take an enormous effort for him to do it, no, it makes him incredibly confused. Marty can’t recall any time his worldview has been this distorted, this _wrong_ ; the car shouldn’t be upside down. He knows everything was in the same place as five minutes ago, yet he has trouble taking in his surroundings. It freaks him out. He barely knows where he is. 

With a dull thud, his body drops down on the ceiling. A gasp escapes the boy; he didn’t realise he’d actually _fall_ down. Why didn’t he think of that?  
Marty groans as he tries to sit up, his whole body aches and he can tell there’s something wrong, somewhere. But he won’t look, not now. Not when Jennifer’s still hanging beside him.  
Blue eyes look up at her. His heart slices at the sight, and Marty fails to hold back a sob. Her whole body is relaxed, she doesn’t move. She just hangs there, like a ragdoll, thrown on the floor after the kids’ finished playing.  
“No”, Marty whimpers, closes his eyes for a second. “Jennifer, please.” He lifts his hand to her face, trembling fingers carefully touch her cheek. 

She doesn’t answer him. Marty doesn’t know what to do, what to feel. His heart’s racing at the same time as it feels like it’s flatlining. His breathing speeds up. What if she’s… what if- if… His heart feels like it’s on the verge of collapsing.

But then, Jennifer’s chest moves - _Thank God!_ She _breathes_! A shuddering sigh passes Marty’s lips. It’s supposed to be a sound of relief, but it sounds more like a sob.  
“Jennifer”, he says. “Jennifer c’mon.” He shakes her shoulder lightly. Still nothing.  
But she breathes. She breathes. 

“I'ma get you down, ‘kay?” Marty gathers as much strength as he can and reaches for her seatbelt. He barely touches it; he falls down, defeated. _Pathetic._ The word rushes through his head - he can’t even unbuckle a belt! Marty’s chest rises and lowers quickly, his body feels numb. He’s so tired. The boy fights to keep his eyes open, but they keep sliding shut. It feels so good to just _escape_. Escape from the pain, escape from reality, escape from Jennifer’s still - but breathing! - form. 

But no, no… Wake up, _wake up!_ He can’t give in, he can’t. Jennifer depends on him, he has to get her out. He has to get himself out. After all he’s been through, he can’t give up now. They have so much left to do. It can’t end here. 

Marty forces his eyes to open, looks around. Blue eyes glance at Jennifer again, and he makes a new attempt to reach the seatbelt. This time, it unbuckles with a faint click, a click that sounds much louder in Marty’s ears than it actually is, and Jennifer’s body collapses beside him. He tries his best to lay her down, turn her, not to hurt her, but it’s easier said than done. 

Jennifer groans and her eyes open a little. Marty grabs her hand, almost frantically, encloses her soft fingers with his.  
“Jenn!” he gasps, puts his other hand on her cheek. “You hear me? Jenn?” She nods sleepily. Marty wants to smile, but he can’t. Instead, his blood runs cold, it freezes in his veins.

It’s first now that he gets a proper view of her, it’s first now he’s taking it in, it’s first now his synapses connect to his brain and Marty realizes what he’s seeing. The left side of Jennifer’s face - the one that faced the truck - is smeared in blood; he can see how it pulses out of the deep cuts on her forehead and cheek. Her golden hair clings to her skin, soiled in crimson, and small pieces of glass glitter among her beautiful locks.  
Marty forgets how to breathe. He stares at her, terror shining brightly in his eyes, as his gaze slowly wanders over her body. He can't feel the beat of his heart anymore. 

He’ll never look at red the same way again.

Red, red, red. It’s _everywhere_. Jennifer’s white shirt has scarlet stains all over her chest. The blue vest is completely ruined, not only by blood, but from a big tear on her left shoulder. Marty can see Jennifer’s torn skin beneath the ruined fabric. Blood has streamed down along her arm, left a smudgy trace on the sleeve. He traces it down to the hand he’s holding and as he lays eyes on it, he realizes she’s not holding his hand back. Her fingers lie laxed in his desperate grip.

 _I can’t move her._ It’s the only thing he has the composure to think before his mind starts spiralling. The truck hit her side, the truck hit her side, the truck hit _her_ side. And the car had overturned, landed upside down. It’d been a horrendous hit.  
Jenn could be hurt worse than he could see. What is he supposed to do? Is he supposed to do anything at all? Or just wait?  
_Why isn't anyone coming?!_

“Jenn”, Marty says. He can’t believe his own voice when it reaches his ears - he sounds more like a wounded bird than an actual person.  
“Jennifer”, he repeats, pats her right cheek lightly; almost as if he was afraid she’d break. Perhaps she would?  
Brown eyes flutter open and look into blue; the roaring waves immediately stillens, reassured by the safe cliffs at the beach. 

Jennifer opens her mouth but no words pass her lips. A faint sob rises from her chest and a single tear slips out of her eye. Her fingers loosely grip around his.  
“I’m here, I’m ‘ere.” Marty takes her hand with both of his, tries to stop his own hands from shaking.

“M- Marty…” The whisper is so faint that Marty barely hears it. 

“Yeah?”

“I lo-” Her voice breaks and she squeezes her eyes shut, sharp breaths pass her lips.

“No, no”, Marty breathes, knowing perfectly well what she’s trying to say. “No, don’t. Not yet, not yet.” Blue eyes start brimming with tears. _Don’t say it, Jenn. Don’t say it. Don’t tell me now, not now._

“I love you”, Jennifer finally manages, and her pale lips form into a weak smile. A smile that sends a bolt of despair right through the core of Marty’s heart. A pained sigh escapes him as tries his best to smile back. 

“I love you too”, he whispers and leans forward; he closes his eyes and kisses the unscathed side of her forehead. His lips are as light as a feather when they touch her skin, and for a second, the world slows down to a stop.  
For the briefest of moments, they are okay and everything is fine. They both feel the warm summer breeze on their skin, the scent of roses envelope them like soft feathery wings. A bird sings in a tree and the sunbeams dance across their bodies, reflect and glitter in their hair. Marty’s lips lingers on Jennifer’s soft skin, as if he’s desperately trying to hold onto the deceiving illusion that encloses them both. Jennifer squeezes his hands lightly. Her eyes are closed, but the smile still rests on her lips.

The wonderful scent of roses is suddenly replaced by something else, something that makes Marty’s skin crawl. Blue eyes snap open and he raises his head, winces in pain when he moves too fast. _Smoke._  
He can’t see where it’s coming from, but he realises that he can’t wait any longer for help to come. _Why isn’t anyone here yet?!_ Marty wants to curse. He has no choice, he has to get out. He has to get Jennifer out. 

Lowering his gaze again, he looks into Jennifer’s eyes; he can see that she sees the terror in his.  
“I’ll see if I can get you out”, he says as he turns around, tries to open the door. It won’t move. _Shit._ Well, it’s no surprise really; the impact after the overturn has pretty much destroyed the whole thing. Oddly enough, the window isn’t completely broken.  
Marty’s eyes close and he breathes uneven. Suddenly, everything’s spinning again. He’s so tired. He just wants to sleep, just rest, for a moment. Just a little moment, just a second...

Jennifer whimpers by his side, her pained sounds makes Marty’s insides twist. In a blink of an eye, he’s fully awake again, at least for a moment.  
But how is he supposed to get them out? The windshield? No, they won’t be able to get out there; it’s pressed against the ground. But what about his own window? Blue eyes search the cracked glass. Perhaps he could smash it? That can work. 

He lets his gaze move to the passenger side and all colour that’s left on his pale face disappears; the passenger side is completely wrecked. Marty can’t understand why he hasn’t seen it earlier, but with Jennifer being the only thing on his mind, perhaps it’s not so surprising after all.

The window is completely shattered, it’s gone, and the door is pushed in, the metal parts bent in weird angles. The sight makes him shiver. No wonder why Jennifer’s all bloodied.  
How is it even possible for anything to do that much damage? Well, a train could, he knows that, but… a truck? It seems surreal, yet here he is, looking at the tattered passenger side. Sharp metal spreads in different directions and the, just now so soft curves of the window frame and roof, are bent apart, thrashed. 

Jennifer’s side is too destroyed - Marty will have to smash his own window. He inhales deeply, slowly, and tries to gather as much strength as he can. He squeezes his eyes shut and throws his elbow at the glass. Pain explodes in his arm and spreads through his body like white flashes of lightning. A gasp tears through his throat and he feels Jennifer’s fingers twist in his free hand. “I’m fine”, he reassures, even though it hurts worse than he’d like to admit.

Marty opens his eyes but sees to his devastation that the window didn’t budge at all, despite the cracks. A deep sigh passes his lips and he turns slowly to be able to kick the glass. _Please work._  
This time, the window shatters and turns into a million pieces of glass that scatter around him. A pleased huff blends in among his heavy breathing. The air burns, smells of ashes. 

He turns his head back to Jennifer, winces - he moved too fast, _again_. “Jenn”, he says. Brown eyes open slowly and she looks at him in silence. Her mouth is slightly open, shallow breaths pass her lips.  
He still can’t quite wrap his mind around what he’s seeing, he can’t really take it in - perhaps it is because he doesn’t want to? - that Jennifer is hurt, really hurt. It’s not just the blood, but her whole appearance. She just lays there, completely still, her breaths slow and shallow. Sometimes she stops breathing for a couple of seconds, and Marty’s heart panics every time. But then, her chest rises and Marty thanks God that she isn’t dead. 

He'd been through a lot, he knew that, with time travel and all. He’d been scared many times, seen people he loved get hurt. One way or another, he’d lost everyone, at some point. Or rather _points_ , at least when it came to Dr. Emmet Brown. Marty remembered how he’d seen Doc get shot, twice. Never had he thought anything could match the fear that had pulsed through his veins in that moment.  
He was now assured that there were other things that could - this could. 

The poor boy had lost Doc, his Mom, his Dad and his siblings had almost been erased from existence. Marty had lost whole Hill Valley for God's sake, _and_ almost got himself killed a multiple of times. But he’d never lost _her_ , and the thought of doing it now - for real! - scares him to death. He can’t lose her, not just because he loves her - by God he loves her! - but because then, he realises he’ll be all alone. Jennifer _knows_ , she knows about time travel, and Marty can talk to her. Without her and Doc, he’ll be lost. He’ll be a foreigner in his own life. A stranger without home, without purpose, without anchor to the world. That scares him to death as well. 

The acrid taint of smoke in the air snaps him out of his thoughts and looks apologetically at Jennifer. Marty knows this is gonna hurt, and he tells himself she’ll be fine, she’ll understand.  
“I’m sorry”, he whispers as he tries his best to ignore her cries when he digs his arms beneath her and drags her towards himself. She’s not that heavy, not at all, but he still finds himself panting like if he’d run a marathon. His hands shake, his muscles refuse to obey him.  
Jeez, he’s tired. His body wants nothing more than to sleep. 

Black smoke suddenly makes its way into the cabin and Marty coughs, drags him out of the sleepiness. For a second, his mind goes back to when he and Doc hijacked the train, and Marty pulls up the same scarf he used in 1885. 

With a last, great effort, he manages to get them both out of the car. Jennifer cries out in pain and Marty wants to throw up. He tells himself he had to, _he had to_ , and that there was no other way - he had to drag her out. But still, he can’t believe he hurt her, he _hurt_ her. It makes him sick. He knows he had to, but it was still his hands that caused her to cry. Marty feels awful. Dirty. 

She rests against his chest, her upper body lies on top of him. It feels so fragile against his, so vulnerable, so light and, at the same time, so heavy. Marty’s chest rises and lowers with his every exhausted breath, and his rib cage presses tightly to her back.  
He wants to, he feels like he needs to, ask her if she’s okay. But he’s too tired; he can’t keep his eyes open properly and everything blurs, turns into a distorted unrecognisable landscape. 

Something warm and wet streams down along his face and he is vaguely aware of the taste of iron in his mouth. Is it blood? He can’t tell. Probably, but he doesn’t bother to check. What difference would it make, knowing if it’s tears or blood? He can’t do anything about it anyways.  
He must have hit his head real hard - that would explain the awful headache and the spinning. It’s getting worse now, it’s throbbing again; impulses of pain wash over him like massive waves. It would feel so good just to sleep, right now, right here…

But then, suddenly the adrenaline rushes through his system again. In the corner of his eye, there’s orange. Orange flames originate from the crushed car hood, they reach smugly for the sky. Marty’s heart starts racing. _No, nonono!_ He has to get them further away. What if it blows up? Can it blow up, is it even possible? The thoughts speed through his mind, without context or background. If there’s a risk it might, Marty realises they’re too close. If the car explodes, they’re as good as dead. Pure terror spreads in his chest. 

If Marty thought dragging Jennifer out of the car wreck was hard, it was a pleasure compared to trying to move them backwards, away from it. He tries to stand up, but his legs won’t work and he immediately collapses on the ground. Are they broken somewhere? Is something sprained? Is he bleeding? Marty doesn’t know, and again, he decides not to look. Because Jennifer comes first, Jennifer comes first. 

After what feels like an eternity of dragging and crawling and crying, Marty can’t do it anymore. He just can’t.  
It’s amazing how much you can do when you don’t have a choice, you can do much more than you ever thought possible. But Marty’s already pushed himself to the outermost line. His strength is gone, he can’t push himself any further. 

Five metres. Marty dragged them both five metres. Is it enough? The question haunts his mind, because if it isn’t, then it’s his fault. His fault he didn’t fight harder, that he didn’t push past the fatigue that now drowns him.  
“Jenn”, he wheezes, as he sits up beside her. Even with the blood and bruises, she’s the most beautiful person he’s ever seen. Marty’s heart feels like it’s being torn in two when he looks at her. Why her, why her? Why didn’t the truck hit his side?  
It should’ve been him, it should’ve been him. 

He takes her hand in his, holds it tightly. “I’m sorry”, he whispers, tears slip out of his eyes, blend into the blood. The words carry more meaning than anything he’s ever said before in his life. He’s sorry for so many things; that he didn’t see the truck, that he wasn’t the one on the passenger side, that he dragged her out, that he can’t help her, that he can’t ease her pain, that he can’t take her to safety, that he never told her he loved her every single time it hit him.  
Jennifer squeezes his hand lightly and nods. “Shh”, she whispers. “‘S o-“ She struggles breathing. “-kay…”  
Mart fails yet again to suppress a sob, and he bows his head. Brown locks, drained in sweat and blood, cling to his forehead. 

Then, everything starts spinning again, and Marty can’t sit up anymore. Panting, he lies down beside Jennifer, rests his head against hers. He can smell the scent of her shampoo mix with the stench of blood and smoke. His fingers grip tightly around hers, afraid to let go, afraid that if he relaxes he’ll slip away from reality. 

But… what does it help, if he already is? If he’s already too far gone? 

Suddenly, the grass seems to grow around them. The straws reach for the sky like big trees, they grow into skyscrapers that seem to have red neon lights at the roof. The sky above them turns dark purple and big grey clouds cover the sun. Yellow lightning strikes down in the grass-scrapers, sets them on fire. Everything burns, smoke is everywhere, the flames lick Marty’s arms and legs, they dance across his body. He wants to scream, but when he opens his mouth, the flames climb inside his throat, burns him into silence. 

Out of nowhere he hears Doc’s voice, _Great Scott!_ , and then the fire disappears, it turns into flowers. Big pink flowers fall over him and Jennifer, envelops them in soft petals. The petals flutter and lift from the ground, and Marty feels like he’s floating. The flowers lift the teenagers into the sky, which is now glittering golden, and fluffy white clouds embrace them.  
For the first time since the truck hit, Marty feels calm, safe. A sigh passes his lips as he stops struggling, he gives in to the tiredness. 

But in the blink of an eye, the sky turns pitch black and Jennifer is ripped from his side.  
“ _Jenn!_ ” Marty hears himself scream, but he doesn’t register ever opening his mouth. Frantic, he reaches out for her. His fingers touch her blue vest, but then she’s gone. She’s disappeared, vanished into thin air. And Marty’s hand lands on the cloud.  
“NO!” Marty screams again, as he tries to get up. “No, no! Jenn! _JENN!_ ”  
He has to find her. He can’t lose her, he can’t lose her, he can’t lose her. Not now, not now. 

Somehow, his strength is back and his body doesn’t ache anymore - if he hadn’t been so distraught, maybe he would’ve thought it suspicious-, but even so, he can’t get up. The cloud he was laying on has transformed into something black and sticky. It smells like tar, and it almost moves by itself, it pulls him down. Before Marty knows it, his legs are completely stuck.  
The boy does everything he can to get up, tries to jump, throws himself, crawls, but nothing works. The sticky liquid doesn’t let him go, doesn’t allow him to move in any direction but down. Panic flushes through Marty’s veins, as he aimlessly grasps for something to pull him up. But there’s nothing there, nothing at all. 

After what feels like an eternity, he gives up. The black slime clings to his skin, drags him deeper and deeper by the second. Now, it reaches his armpits, and soon he’ll not be able to breathe, soon it’ll be over. He’s not getting away, no matter what he does. He squeezes his eyes shut, tries not to think, not to feel. 

A familiar voice makes the bright blue eyes flutter open again and Marty snaps his head in it’s direction. He has no idea what he said, but Marty knows who it is, he knows that voice by heart. And suddenly the sky transforms; it’s blue again with small fluffy clouds; rays of sun penetrate them and Marty can feel their warmth on his skin. 

“Doc!” The boy’s voice cracks. “ _Doc!!_ ” It’s raw, it doesn’t sound like him at all.  
The old man, standing a couple of metres away, turns around slowly. He’s wearing the same clothes that he wore when Marty saw him, just thirty minutes ago, and there’s a light-hearted smile on his lips. 

“Doc! Help me, Doc!” The boy cries out, words tainted by new found hope, but still drained in anguish. The sticky quicksand has reached his collarbone and he tries to fight the panic that mixes up with the blood in his veins. 

The white haired man doesn’t reply, he simply walks towards the boy in silence. He gets to the verge of the black pit the boy is trapped in, squats down, takes off his hat.  
Marty looks wide eyed at his friend. “Help me”, he whimpers. “Please help me.” If he could only get his hand above the sluggish liquid, then maybe, _maybe_ , he could reach the Doc. Maybe he could get up, maybe Doc could save him. 

Doc still doesn’t answer, and Marty feels the liquid close around his throat like a cold hand, just about to strangle him. He fights against the black, presses his hand through it, up towards the surface.  
“Please.” Marty begs his friend, he begs for his life, pleads, but Doc still doesn’t speak. Instead, he brings out a rope from beneath his coat. A shuddering breath escapes Marty’s lips in relief. Tears that he hadn’t realised were brimming in his eyes, roll down along his cheeks, and with new found strength, he manages to get his hand above the black sticky surface to be able to grab the rope. 

But Doc doesn’t throw it to him. No, he throws it away, in the wrong direction. Shocked blue eyes follow the rope until it lands, far, far away. The immense relief and complete trust and gratitude that had filled Marty’s heart, that he’d addressed to Doc in silence, disappear in an instant, as if ripped out of his chest.  
“No!” the boy gasps. He stares at the man in horror. “Doc, no! Help me, help me, Doc!” The scientist doesn’t react to Marty’s pleas. And suddenly everything around the boy seems to be blurred out, wobbling even. The only thing that’s clear, is Doc, and Marty can’t take his eyes off the man.  
He doesn’t understand, why would Doc do this? What is happening? Is the Doc letting him die? Right in front of his eyes? 

If- if so, why? 

_WHY?!_

Doc is silent, still smiling like nothing ever happened; like if the boy was sitting on the grass on a flowery field, just enjoying how the sun danced on his skin, like he hadn’t the slightest worry in the world.  
The old man bends forward, closer to the boy; now, the tar reaches Marty’s chin. The boy can’t speak, his vocal chords won’t work, won’t obey him.  
“The future isn’t written yet”, Doc says. “Make it a good one, both of you.” Then, he stands up and walks away. Marty’s world crashes. 

_He is leaving me to die_ , he thinks. The thought circles around in his mind, set on an endless repeat.

Marty doesn’t think he’s felt true betrayal in his life, not until now. He’s never really understood why people in movies could go to such extremes when someone betrayed them, not until now. He wants nothing more than to throw himself at Doc. Marty wants to beat him, watch him bleed. 

But, at the same time, he wants to cry, he wants to fall into the embrace of the man that has comforted him so many times before. 

“Doc”, Marty sobs and tears stream down his face. He’s so afraid, he’s never been this afraid in his life. He doesn’t want to die.  
“Don’t leave me, Do-” Marty’s words drown, as the black liquid reaches his chin and nestles itself into his mouth, and the only thing that remains is an abominable gurgle. When it fills his mouth, streams down his throat and lungs, he recognises the taste.

It’s not tar at all, it’s blood. 

Marty’s eyes flicker around in terror and his lungs burn as a blood curdling scream tears through his throat. The last thing he sees before the red swallows him is Doc’s back, and the last thought that echoes in Marty’s mind horrifies him. 

_I hate you!_

***

Blue eyes snap open and a loud gasp passes his lips as he jerks awake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! Please comment and tell me your thoughts. (And I know, my heart's broken too. Gosh what have I done?)  
> I wish you a great day! TPWK!


	2. The Fourteenth Letter of the Alphabet

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading! I hope this chapter isn't really as sad as the first one, I hope it's a little bit of light in the darkness. Please let me know your thoughts, I'm happy to answer any comments. Like the length of the chapters, is it okay? I realise my chapters tend to be around 5000 words. Is that okay or should I devide them into smaller ones?
> 
> And, just for your info, Marty's memories doesn't connect to his new timeline in this AU, as you'll also see further into the story. 
> 
> Have a great day! TPWK!

**Saturday, November 9th, 1985**

The boy jerks awake. His bare sweaty chest shines in the pale moonlight that flows through the window, flows past the striped curtains. His chest raises and lowers like he’d been out running, and the blue wide eyes are fixed at the ceiling. Where is he? Where’s the blood? Where’s Doc? _Where’s Jenn?!_  
Marty sits up in the bed, his back tense like a steel wire that could snap any second. He can feel his heart pound inside his chest, every beat sends vibrations through his whole upper body, it slams against his ribs. Adrenaline rushes through his system. Blue eyes flicker around the room, wide open. 

It takes a moment for Marty to realise where he is, to realise that he’s home, in his room. That he’s safe. When it all comes back to him, he covers his face in his hands; he lets them slide up his forehead, through his damp hair. He feels the rough surface of the big eschar just beneath his hairline under his fingers.  
It wasn’t a dream. Or well, the last part was, but not the beginning. 

Marty shivers when he remembers seeing the truck come at them. And even though he’s sitting perfectly still, he can feel the impact of the big vehicle and how they were tossed off the road. His stomach twists - it almost feels like his guts turn themselves inside out - and he almost wants to throw up. His ribcage heaves with a deep inhale, and the teenager gets up from bed. 

Blue eyes sweep through the room, searching for anything that can take his mind off Jennifer’s bloodied face and the phantom weight of her limp hand in his. His gaze wanders over piles of clothes, school books on the floor and dirty dishes on his desk. The room is a mess, just like it’s always been - at least to him.  
He had a feeling that the Marty his parents knew in this new timeline, had been a bit more devoted to keeping his room clean. It seemed like their Marty had been much more devoted to many things, at least from what Marty could tell from his Mom’s confused gaze and Linda’s raised eyebrows. 

Perhaps he should be more upset about the changes than he actually is, but at the moment they don’t seem important at all. To be honest, nothing feels important anymore, nothing except for Jennifer. Everything circles around her; visiting her at the hospital, thinking about what he could’ve done to avoid the accident, hoping - praying - she’ll be alright, longing for her warm embrace, trying to hold back tears when no one’s around. 

Again and again, he has to remind himself that it wasn’t his fault. Marty hadn’t done anything wrong - he’d done everything right. He even held the speed limit! No, it was the truck driver's fault, Marty knows that and he keeps telling himself over and over again. But it doesn’t help, it still feels like Jennifer is in the hospital because of him. Because of what he did. Or perhaps, because of what didn’t do. 

It was almost two weeks ago. Jennifer had been laying in that hospital bed for almost two weeks, and just the thought makes Marty want to sob. He himself had - for some reason he doesn’t understand - been almost unscathed. He’d gotten a couple of nasty cuts on his head, a concussion and lots of bruises. And pieces of glass from Jennifer’s window had hit him in the thigh; two big shards had dug themselves past his skin, into the flesh, just above his knee. Causing his trousers to turn dark, almost black. That was what his Mom had told him, at least.  
Marty was lucky that the shards hadn’t cut any big arteries, even though he’d bled a lot. If they had, he wouldn’t have and gotten home as early as the next day. 

That Marty hadn’t gotten hurt worse was a miracle, perhaps even more than that. And, it was just as much of a miracle that Jennifer was alive at all when they brought her in. From what Marty knows, she’d lost more blood than he had. He knows her arm was broken, and that they had stitched her shoulder as well as the cuts on her head.  
That was about as much as he understood when his Mom explained it to him. Then, when she continued, he’d zoned out from reality. She said something about a rib and a lung, and then something about surgery. The word _bad_ had passed his Mom’s lips more times than he’d liked it to. He hates that word. 

But to Marty, it wasn’t important to know why Jennifer almost died. Only that she almost did.

Not a single day goes by, and not even a second of those days, without him thinking of her. She’s always on his mind. It doesn’t matter if the picture of her is hidden behind another thought, or if he’s actively thinking about her at the moment - Jennifer is still there. There’s always that echo of her voice in his head, always that stinging in his heart when he remembers what happened and always that ache of worry in his chest, that never goes away. 

Marty pulls his hands through his hair again and looks around, tries to think of something else. It’s never really bothered him before, the mess in his room, but now it feels like every misplaced pen and empty Pepsi can glare at him, slightly amused at his upset appearance. They stare, observe how he clenches and unclenches his fists. Marty turns around and closes his eyes in an attempt to hide from their judging gazes, but when he opens them again, the room is just as messy as before, just as judging as a second ago. The cans and candy wrappers still glare at him, grin. 

Every tiny little thing that’s in the wrong place seems to give away a sound, a buzzing, as if they were vibrating. Marty covers his ears with his hands and stares at a clean spot on the floor, lips pressed tightly together. The mess around him buzzes, and it’s loud. Irritated breaths pass through his nose as he glares back at the untidiness. 

Then, he spins around and grabs a plastic bag out of a random pile on the floor. He takes it with both hands and swings it through the air. It opens with a rustle. As if he was in a hurry, he grabs all the empty cans and candy papers and throws them in the bag, every movement much more violent than they actually needed to be.  
The crumpled papers beside his desk go in the bag as well. What need does he have of half written songs now? The balls of paper seem to burn his hands when he picks them up; he wrote most of these about Jennifer. Without looking, he stuffs them quickly into the bag. They weren’t even good, he tells himself.

Marty’s gaze hunts for trash, but when he doesn’t see any left, he ties the ends of the bag together and throws it towards the door. It hits the wall with a thud before falling to the floor.  
He drops to his knees and collects the books on the floor roughly in his arms, before standing up and putting them down on the desk. His Mom had made him stay home from school the first week after the accident, and Marty hadn't really protested. But then, she'd also made sure to bring all of his school work home as well.  
One book accidentally slides out of his embrace and lands on the floor front side up with a loud smack. Displeased, he looks down at the book. _The Stranger_ , by Albert Camus. Marty glares at the book that they’ve started reading in English class. His mouth twitches and instead of picking it up, he kicks it in under the wardrobe. He’s sick of that existentialism talk. 

Bending down again, he grabs the clothes up from the floor and holds them against his chest with his left arm. He swings the door to the wardrobe open with his right, and throws the clothes inside; he doesn’t care that they land in the wrong drawer.  
Marty picks up a shirt from his chair, a pair of jeans from the floor beneath his bed and an odd pair of socks. He pushes the clothing into the already stuffed cabinet and slams the door shut as fast as he can, so the clothes don't fall out. Slowly, he backs away from the wardrobe. He holds his hands up as if he could use the force to keep the doors closed, just like Luke Skywalker. A new hope - Marty needs that.

Marty is just about to turn towards the desk to take care of the dirty dishes when the door to his room suddenly opens.  
“ _What_ are you doing?” Lindas irritated whisper almost makes him jump out of his skin. Marty gasps and spins around, blue eyes riveted on his sister. He stumbles into the desk and two of the books he put up falls down again. 

“Jeez!” He hisses, voice high pitched. “Why’d you do that?” He straightens his back and pulls his hand through his hair. Blue eyes throw an angry glare at her.

“Do what?” She stares at him in confusion, eyes squinted.

“Scare me, what do you think?”

Linda huffs, blows air out her nose. A fragment of a smile teases the corner of her mouth. She lets her gaze wander through Marty’s room, as she looks at his cleaning attempts as best as she can without her glasses. “What _are_ you doing, Marty?” 

Marty swallows and opens his mouth, then closes it. He looks around and lifts a hand to rub his neck. “I…” he begins, not entirely sure of what to say. 

“You’re cleaning?”

“Yeah.” Marty smiles half heartedly and shrugs. “Yes, I am.”

Linda raises an eyebrow in disbelief. “You are?” He nods again.  
“Well, stop it then”, she says, and sighs deeply when she lays eyes on the question mark on her brother’s face.  
“It’s three-thirty in the morning!” She exclaims, lifts her hand into the air. “You mad? You haven’t cleaned for weeks and now, in the middle of the _night_ you finally decide to do it.” She claps her hands slowly, so they don’t make any noise. “Just go back to bed, alright? Good night.”

Marty raises his hand and opens his mouth to protest, but doesn’t get the chance to say anything before Linda shuts the door. He closes his mouth slowly and lets his hand fall to his side. The soft fabric of his pyjama pants feels unusually rough against his fingers when he rests them on his hips, elbows pointing out to the sides. His gaze lowers and a couple of dark strands of hair fall into his forehead when he bows his head. He looks up at the clock radio on the shelf behind his bed. 3:33, it says. The lamp on the bedside table is on, he realises. When did he lighten it? He doesn’t remember. It drains the room in it’s pale light, blends in with the blue toned moon light. 

The teen inhales slowly; the breath shallow and at the same time deep. The clock radio switches from 3:33 to 3:34 with a silent click. Blunted, he walks back to the bed and sits down. Slowly, he shifts towards the light and turns it off, making moon light the only thing to enlighten the room. 

Linda’s appearance had broken into his room the same way one breaks the surface of a soap bubble - making the bubble disappear. Marty had been completely lost in his own mind, thoughts spiralling, after the dream. But when Linda had opened his door, she’d drawn him back into reality. It had been harsh, almost violent, emotionally. Because, somehow, his thoughts had been comforting. And to be ripped out of that had startled him just as much as Linda’s physical appearance. 

Slowly, his mind rebuilds what she’d broken and soon the thoughts are back again. Marty screws up his face and rubs his eyes with his hand. Even though they were somewhat comforting, his thoughts weren’t very cheerful. But now again, how much was really cheerful in his life at all, at this moment? His life had been turned upside down that weekend when he jumped into the Delorean, and it hadn't really gotten better.  
The teen shivers and bends forward, placing his face in his hands, elbows on his knees. The dream had felt so real, every detail so exact and precise. A shuddering sigh escapes him. 

_I hate you!_ The words echo in his mind, back and forth, back and forth. They make his skin crawl at the same time as his cheeks grow hot. He knows it was just a dream, but it was still _his_ dream. Marty doesn’t hate Doc, he never could, never in his life. No, over his dead body. The teenager can’t even imagine a world where he hates the man that has given him so much; helped him, supported him and encouraged him. _If you put your mind to it, you can accomplish anything._  
The man has saved Marty’s life - more than once - and he will owe him for that for the rest of his days. 

Marty knows this, he knows it as well as he knows the back of his hand. Yet, it frightens him. What if some part of him hates Doc, like, unconsciously? What if that part of him would someday take over? What if Marty actually would grow into hating the man he never thought he could even dislike?  
The boy lifts his gaze and shrugs, tries to get the thoughts off his mind. But it’s no use, once they’ve started spiralling there’s no stopping them. 

There’s one thing that the dream got right though: what Doc said. _The future isn’t written yet._ Marty feels himself harden inside against his will; something dark sculpts itself around his heart and dries into a hard shell, small cracks climb up along the sides. The colour drains from Marty's face when he realises why. That part he was afraid of, it already exists. 

There’s a question lingering on his mind, a question that slices through his heart like a knife. Why did Doc tell him those things? Why did he say what he said?  
Why... didn’t the man tell him about the accident?  
Doc had been to the future, that much he’d told the boy. Then, Marty figures, he must’ve known. And if he knew, he would’ve told Marty? Right? 

Or, is it just that simple, that Doc actually didn’t know what was about to happen? The boy hopes so. He holds onto that thought, that possibility, and tries to make it the last thing on his mind before he goes back to sleep. He tries to make it a fact.

***

The hospital smells weird, it smells of emotions. It smells like calmness, and at the same time, there’s a tiny tinge of anxiety and worry in the air. Of course, the smell of hand antiseptics and sterilised items dominates, but Marty still feels like he can smell the emotions. The one that he recognises from the first moment he steps inside the big building, is fear. It’s faint, but there nonetheless - the same thing applies to sadness. 

However, Marty finds the smell somewhat calming, it makes him feel safe. Somehow, the smell is soothing, almost sedating in a way. The nurses walk by him where he stands in the corridor, they smile at him with their kind eyes. He wonders if it was one of them that helped him after the accident. A doctor had spoken to him afterwards, but none of the nurses had. 

The boy doesn’t remember anything from when they brought him in, there’s an empty gap in his memory from when he passed out beside Jenn to when he woke up in the hospital bed. He doesn’t know what happened during that time, but there must’ve been at least a few people there, patching him up.  
Blue eyes follow the nurses as they walk past him, he wonders if anyone recognises him. Some part of him hopes they do, hopes someone will look up and say hi. He’d like to thank them, because he feels like he owes them. They’d helped him, and he hasn’t done anything for them. Not yet, at least. 

But none of the nurses seem to recognise him, at least not from helping him. They have seen him though, they have seen the teen with the black guitar case and blue denim jacket. Almost every day for the past two weeks. They have seen the red backpack on his back and the skateboard under his arm, the dirty Nike sneakers and the messy hair. 

In the restroom, they call him the ‘guitar boy’. The older nurses sit at their table and talk about him with unfocused eyes, as if they were dreaming about something far, far away. They know, they know the feeling. They know why the guitar boy keeps coming every day.  
The younger women whisper about him, their eyes glitter with hope and excitement when they talk. Marty is appealing, for sure, but it’s not him they whisper about. It’s about who he visits, and how they wish someone were as devoted to them, as the guitar boy is to the girl in room number forty two. The nurses sigh and rest their chins in their hands, elbows on the table, as their gazes dreamingly wander away to another place. 

_42_. The number in white looks down at Marty, it stands out from the brown surface of the door. He puts his hand on the handle and opens it, steps quietly inside. The sunlight surges through the window and into the small room, it hits the white walls and reflects on the polished floor.

“Hi”, he says and smiles at the girl in the hospital bed. She looks up and her face cracks into a big smile when she sees him. His lips curve into a smile as well and he walks up to her bed. 

“Marty”, Jennifer whispers, the name formed like a heart by her soft voice. Marty places the guitar case carefully on the floor and lets the backpack slide down along his arm. It lands on the floor beside his skateboard with a thud. 

Carefully, he reaches his hand towards her face and corrects a couple of golden locks that have fallen into her eyes. The sunlight plays with her hair, it makes every strand shine like it was made out of gold. Maybe they are?

He cups his hand around her cheek and lets his eyes linger on her for a moment, before he leans in and kisses her. She lifts her hand slowly to his cheek; her fingers rest softly - Marty denies the fact that the right word is ‘weakly’ - against his cheekbone.  
The kiss is gentle, soft. It’s a praise of gratitude, it has the feeling of a heart warming laugh, and it’s true, honest. It’s three words, two words and one word, all at the same time. 

_I love you. I do. Yes._

But with being true, with being honest, it’s also sad and desperate, a reminder of what happened. It’s a scar, marking them both. And at the same time, it’s light, shining brightly, just for them. Its's soft as the warm summer breeze, almost too soft; almost as if they’re afraid to break the other. The softest of touches can sometimes be the ones that mean the most. 

They break the kiss and Marty looks deeply into her brown eyes; his earth, his grounding, his rocks. And blue eyes stillen; the waves on the ocean slow down until the water surface lies completely still, like a mirror. He smiles and rests his forehead against hers, strokes her hair with his hand once before straightening up. 

“How are you?” he asks and sits down on the chair beside the bed. It stands exactly where he left it yesterday. 

“Tired”, she says. “But you know how it is, sometimes it’s better, sometimes it’s worse.” She sighs, Marty answers with a nod. _So it’s a good day_ , he thinks and lets his gaze softly swill over her features. 

Jennifer’s face is pale, pale like a sheet despite that she’s being taken care of and checked in on daily. It creates a lump in his stomach every time he visits. It feels wrong. _His_ Jenn shouldn’t look like that.  
His gaze wanders over her face, over the eschars on her left side, and the cheek bones that are just a little bit more marked today than yesterday. She was naturally thin before, but Marty can tell she’s dropped in weight. How can one do that in less than two weeks?  
The tiny double chin that always showed when she bent her head in a certain angle, is gone. Even though it might sound stupid, he finds himself missing that particular double chin. 

“You?” Jennifer’s faint voice snaps him back to reality. He forces a smile. 

“Well, me too”, Marty huffs, feeling how his entire body longs for rest. He didn’t really fall back to sleep as he hoped he would. “I couldn’t sleep.” His mouth twitches at the memory of the dream, and he shrugs. 

“Bad dream again?” 

“Yeah, but I’m fine now”, Marty reassures, and takes her hand in both of his. His thumb slides slowly over her knuckles. God, her hands are so small. 

“Same dream?” She asks and Marty nods again. 

“Yeah, kinda. I mean it was a little bit different, but still the same.” 

Jennifer sighs and looks at him with sympathetic eyes. “You know, I have dreams too”, she says, and Marty’s brow furrows.  
She bites her lower lip and laughs weakly at his concerned expression. “But not at night”, she explains. “I think about what’s gonna happen when I get outta here.” She pauses, breathes. “When everything’s back to normal again.”

“And?” Marty asks, the worry in his eyes suddenly gone, and raises an eyebrow. A smile hides in the corner of his mouth.

“And it’s about us”, she whispers, as if it was a secret that shouldn’t be told out loud.

“What about us?” Blue eyes glitter with curiosity, looks at her as if she’s about to reveal the answer to the ultimate question of life, the universe, and everything - even though he already knows the answer. It's written in figures on the door to her room. Translated however, it means ‘she’. 

“Thinkin’ about prom and all. It’s not too long left, you know.”

Marty smiles, sees Jenn in front of him in a new dress, her hair done, beautiful as ever. _That’d be a sight for sore eyes._  
“Can’t wait”, he says. 

“But…” Jennifer begins. She squeezes her eyes shut and clasps Marty’s hand just a little. She takes a deep breath before she continues. “You’ll have to dance with me.” She opens her eyes slowly and raises one of her eyebrows, just a little. 

Marty rolls his eyes and sighs, tries to push away the new lump of worry in his stomach with a laugh. “Stop it”, he says and tries to smile. “I know where you’re going with this, you know.”

“Oh, no I didn’t mean to…” Jennifer exclaims, as theatrically as her body allows. “Sorry.” She lingers on the vowels and rolls her eyes, a smug smile rests on her pale lips. 

“We’ve already talked about this - we both know you’re the better dancer, alright.” The pitch of his voice goes slightly higher with every word; Marty gestures with his right hand and raises his eyebrows. 

Jennifer just watches, clearly amused. “We do”, she confirms and pauses. “I don’t understand”, she giggles. “When you play, your fingers dance over the strings. But when you try to dance with your legs-“ The giggle turns into a cough, and she closes her eyes again. She breathes slowly, carefully, and lays her hand on her ribs. Marty’s hand is back on hers, comforting her in silence. Sometimes it hurts, he knows that. He knows that. They just have to wait for it to pass.

“I can moonwalk”, he says to his defence. Jennifer’s eyes flutter open and she looks at him sceptically. 

“What?” 

“Can you dance anything else?” 

Marty’s lips zips into a thin line at her question, blue eyes glare teasingly at brown ones. 

“Can you _not_ ruin the moment, please?” He asks, raising his eyebrows and closing his eyes at the same time, tilts his head just a little to the side. 

“You look like that substitute teacher”, Jennifer huffs. “You know, with the tie.”

Marty nods eagerly, trying his best to stay in character despite the laugh that threatens to burst out of his mouth.  
“Hello class”, he imitates and pretends to slide down his imaginary glasses to the tip of his nose. “Today we are…” Jennifer laughs at him, and Marty can’t hold back his own laughter anymore. It bubbles out of him like soap bubbles in the sky, glittering and reflecting the colours of the rainbow in the sunlight. 

And for a short moment, they’re okay, they’re fine. For a moment, Jennifer isn’t lying in the hospital bed. For a moment, the worry in Marty’s stomach is gone. For a moment, they’re back to normal. There is no pain, no fear, no worries. Just the two of them: two souls connected by a beam of sunlight.

But then, the illusion shatters, and they’re back again. The room suddenly feels so cold. And the air smells of pain. Jennifer tries to choke a whimper and moves her hand to her ribs again. Marty sits helpless by her side, tries his best to comfort her. He holds her hand. He knows it hurts sometimes, he knows it has to hurt sometimes. 

The reason the nurses call him the ‘guitar boy’ is because he always plays something during his visits. Everyone who walks through the corridor, past room number 42, has heard him. The sound of plucked strings and soothing chords finds its way under the door and spreads through the corridor, into the other rooms and patients' ears. The ‘guitar boy’ isn’t just a topic of conversation for the nurses, other patients also talk about him as well. The doctor’s smile amusedly when they hear him, and stressed visitors get a moment of peace. 

The first time he brought the big guitar case with him, one nurse insisted that he’d open it and show what was inside. The boy had opened the clasps and swallowed hard, as if he’d feared that the guitar had suddenly been replaced with something else, without him knowing it.  
The pale hospital light had shone down on the black old acoustic guitar, reflected on its timeworn body. With a huff, the nurse had patted him on the shoulder and nodded in the direction of the corridor. “Off you go”, she’d said. 

Jennifer listens to him with closed eyes when his fingers play with the strings, as they _dance_. The last chord lingers in the air until it slowly fades away. Marty gazes at his wristwatch, it’s half past three, and realises he's only been there half an hour.  
He looks up at Jennifer, follows the slow movement of her chest when she breathes. He’d thought she’d manage longer than thirty minutes, with it being a good day and all. It stings. Thirty minutes isn’t enough. It isn’t enough.

But it has to be enough. Even though it isn’t. Jenn has to rest, she’s recovering, he tells himself. She’s gonna be fine.

Carefully, he puts down the guitar and places it inside the case. As he closes the clasps, Jennifer mumbles his name.  
“I’m here”, he says and turns to her, takes her hand. “I’m ‘ere.”

Jennifer smiles, but doesn't open her eyes. “Can you stay-” She pauses and breathes in. “-’till I’m asleep?”

Marty nods, even though she can’t see it. “Of course.” He strokes her hair as he lets his gaze wander across her face. Even now, even when she’s hurt, she’s beautiful. Even with the not yet healed wounds on her face, she’s the most beautiful person he’s ever seen.

Something had happened to their relationship after the time travel with Doc. It was as if they both had realised what they could be, if they wanted to. Despite 2015 not being perfect, it was a promise. A promise of a future where it was _them_ , where they’d stuck together and supported each other. And like Doc had said, the future would be what they made it. Marty and Jennifer had agreed that they would make it a good one. None of them had said it out loud, but they both felt it, they both knew. They both wanted it.

Something had happened inside Marty as well. From just thinking of Jenn as his girlfriend and best friend - partner in crime - now in 1985, he’d started thinking more and more about Jenn as the one standing by his side ten years into the future. It seemed so clear now, that it was her, and only her.

Marty had always teased her a bit by looking at other girls. Most of the time it was purely him baiting her, but sometimes he had actually found himself drawn to some of the girls walking by. The way they walked or the way they ran their fingers through their hair. Even though he already was with Jennifer.  
But now, his cheeks turn red everytime he remembers that and he wishes he could take it back. Because now he has realised it, that none of them, not one, matched her. Now, it was her, only her; now, and forever. He knew it. Her name was written inside his heart, the letters there to remain.

 _Jenn._ With two N:s, Jenn with two N:s. Marty could’ve easily called her just Jen, but that wouldn’t have been the same. That extra N was for her. That was her N. The fourteenth letter in the alphabet, just for her.  
That N - that didn’t make a sound, that didn’t really make a difference, that no one else cared about - was his way of showing that she was the oNe. She was his N. 

“You know I love you, right?” he adds, after a minute of silence. After the accident he’d stopped stopping himself everytime he thought of it. Now, he tells her every time. He doesn’t want to leave anything unsaid, ever again. 

“Love you too”, Jennifer whispers. Marty can hear that she’s falling asleep. 

“I’ll see you tomorrow”, he says. 

“Yeah”, Jennifer answers sleepily. “Take care… mister.”

“Will do.” He pauses. “You too, mam.” 

There’s a smile on her lips when she drifts into sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did you get the reference to The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy? Perhaps Marty has read it, what do you think?


End file.
